


What Forgiveness

by Dragonfly



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AU, Gen, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-28
Updated: 2009-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonfly/pseuds/Dragonfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of Sarah T's After Such Knowledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> In “After Such Knowledge,” the human!Michael is peripherally included in the team’s missions, but when he secretly uses Wraith technology to create a version of the retrovirus which does not require a booster, Caldwell puts him under guard again. When Rodney figures out how to aerosolize it, the team realizes they have a weapon that could turn the Wraith crew of an entire cruiser human if Michael can lure a ship by reverting to a Wraith and summoning them telepathically. It would probably be suicide for him. It’s a great story. [After Such Knowledge](http://www.aliencorn.net/stories/after.html) You should read it.

Sheppard strides through the corridor to Teyla’s quarters, two MPs flanking him, unconcerned about approaching silently, since the solid walls of Atlantis are soundproof. “Colonel,” says the senior of the MPs, a buck sergeant, “we should go in drawn. It’s procedure.”

“I said, no.” Sheppard checks his own weapon’s security in his holster. “This is bad enough. I’m not barging in with guns drawn.” Privately, he considers a surprised Teyla a greater potential danger than even the escaped prisoner with her in her quarters. If she’s not under any threat in there, her response to their invasion could be ... unpleasant. As for Michael ...

Anger smolders in him, anger he struggles to keep banked. He has no cause to believe Michael has a weapon. If he’d wanted one, he would have taken it from the guard on his room – the one he’d somehow drugged into a woozy sleep, the one who now strides shamefaced and doubly determined at Sheppard’s heels.

At Teyla’s door he slaps a command override in and the three of them burst through. “Step back, Michael. Away from Teyla,” he orders, gesturing with one hand, the other on his holster. Before he finishes speaking, Michael jumps to his feet, releasing Teyla’s hands, his gaze flicking around the room. Teyla wears a soft robe over her sleeping gown. Her hair is down. They had been seated, facing, holding each other’s hands like the pious at prayer.  
Again Sheppard smothers irrational fury. They’d been holding hands. The Wraith used their hands to feed ...

“Take him,” he orders, barely looking at Michael. The MPs shoulder past him as Teyla stands, gracefully. She regards Sheppard calmly, faintly disapproving, nothing like the warrior’s reaction he’d feared she might exhibit. It is as if she’d expected this. “Don’t hurt him,” she says, and that makes him angry, too. “John.” His name makes it personal, makes it urgent. Makes it an appeal.

Sheppard regards Michael, defiant in the MPs’ grips. The wraith-man’s face is a sullen mask, not succeeding at covering his fury. Fury and something else. Something devastated. Sheppard ignores it; he doesn’t have time for it. “Take him back to his quarters and ‘cuff him to his bed. I’ll be there in a minute.” Michael doesn’t struggle as they take him away, but his reluctant steps are not cooperative, either.

The moment the door clicks, he asks, “What happened?”

Teyla sighs and turns away. “Would you like some tea?”

“I don’t want tea; I want a report.”

She turns back, surprised at his tone, then composes herself into a soldier. “He came to my door. I let him in and we talked.”

“You knew he was confined to quarters.” He needs her to remember what Michael is.  
She tips her head yes, and looks at his face. “Was anyone hurt?”

Seeing her understanding, he relaxes a little. “His guard fell asleep. I’m sure Michael had something to do with it. Did he tell you how he got out?”

She frowns, thinking. “No.” The look she gives him speaks her veiled concern. “Fell asleep?” Her tone is skeptical.

“Yeah.” Sheppard sinks onto a bench, releasing the anger and fear he wouldn’t admit to. Replacing it, reluctantly, with something bigger. “Not very likely, is it.”

“But possible,” she says, not believing it herself.

So there it lies, between them, heavy in the room. The possibility that Michael has been hiding Wraith abilities from them. Michael has _Powers._ The certainty of Caldwell’s wrath and the severity of the retribution that will fall on Michael forms a knot in his stomach. “What did he want?” he asks quietly.

“Is that really salient to the report? Something that happens in the privacy of my quarters?” She dares him to assume the worst.

Sheppard doesn’t take the bait. He knows her better than she suspects. “Everything about Michael is salient to the report. He’s still an experiment. Knowing what he wanted would tell me how serious his escape is.”

He sees her consider that. “He wanted to talk,” she says. “He was scared. I’ve never seen him so ... vulnerable. He told me he never knows when the sun rises if he’ll be permitted to live to see it set. That’s a lot of stress.”

“Even the Wraith value their lives, Teyla. And any of us can die at any time.”

“We don’t have to fear death at each other’s hands, John. We don’t worry that our own execution is going to suddenly appear on the day’s schedule.”

“That’s—“ He had been going to say ‘ridiculous,’ but he stops. “So he cries on your shoulder and you go all soft on him? We still don’t know what he is.”

She shakes her head. “When I think of him as a wraith – the things he must have done ...” A look of such disgust distorts her smooth features that the hair on Sheppard’s neck rises. The moment passes, and she looks at him. “We’re asking him to give up his life for our cause. It’s the ultimate sacrifice one human can make for others, and we’re not even convinced of his humanity.”

“Because we don’t know how much he has,” Sheppard replies, grimly. “Maybe less than we thought.”

“Maybe,” she admits. “But maybe more.”

Sheppard enters Michael’s quarters in an uncertain mood. The hour is late and his body is clamoring for sleep. He has an early report time tomorrow. The MPs come to attention and Sheppard nods at them. Michael lies on his side, his right wrist ‘cuffed to the solid metal frame of his bed, his left placed on the mattress beside it, for balance. The eyes he opens on Sheppard’s entrance are red-rimmed.

Sheppard has had precious little time on the way back to Michael’s quarters to decide whether he’s facing a dangerous enemy prisoner or one of the best fighters on his team. Time’s up, he’ll have to operate on instinct. “Wait outside,” he tells the two guards.

He releases the cuff on Michael’s wrist and steps back. Michael sits up smoothly, his expression impassive. He doesn’t meet Sheppard’s eyes. “What did you do to the guard?” Sheppard demands.

“The guard?” The question is not what Michael expected, clearly. “I ...” Color drains from Michael’s face. He licks his lips. “Why did you do that?” He gestures at the handcuffs.

A weak attempt at changing the subject. “So you wouldn’t escape again, of course. Answer my question. What did you do to the guard?”

Michael breathes shallowly, looking trapped. “Nothing.”

“It’s a court-martial offense for a guard to fall asleep at his post. And pretty coincidental that you knew through a locked door, that he had. You’ve been hiding Wraith abilities from us.”

Now he has him. Michael has gone from belligerent to defensive and worried. “I didn’t hide anything.”

“So I have to relieve A1C Cousins of duty and remand him for court-martial.”

Michael gives him a look half-amazed, half confused. “Am I supposed to hold his career more highly than my own life and freedom?”

“A human would.”

Michael meets his gaze thoughtfully, then shakes his head. “I don’t believe that’s true. A human who was a prisoner? Why would he?”

“You didn’t take anyone’s life and you didn’t make a bid for freedom. I can overlook most of what’s happened here tonight, except his lapse in duty. Unless I knew it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault, was it?”

Sheppard holds his breath, waiting to see if Michael will trust him or if he’s become too damaged to be of any further use to the team.

“No,” Michael whispers, his deep-set eyes filled with dread.

Sheppard breathes out and opens the door. “Airmen, come in here, please.” A1C Cousins and the MP who found him dozing and groggy enter warily. “Airman Cousins, falling asleep at your post is a court-martial offense, you know that.”

Cousins swallows. “Yes, sir.”

“It won’t happen again, will it?” Cousins raises his eyebrows. “N—no, sir,” he says.

“I’m sure it won’t. I’m sure this was an isolated incident and in the future you’ll drink lots of coffee before going on duty. So my report will make no mention of the prisoner’s escape, but everyone in this room has to forget this incident ever happened.” Sheppard looks at the other man. Startled, the MP nods. “Yes, sir, but I called it in to the Command Post –“

“And I responded from the Command Post, so it’ll be my report on record. Can Airman Cousins and I count on you?”

The man glances at his colleague. “Oh, yes sir.”

“Very good. You relieve Airman Cousins outside and you are both dismissed.” Both MPs give him smart salutes. “Thank you, sir,” Cousins breathes before they go.

“You’re welcome,” Sheppard says, looking at Michael. After the door swishes shut, Michael says, “Teyla.”

Sheppard nods. “I’ll talk to her. But you can’t hide things from us, Michael.” He considers Caldwell for a moment and amends his command. “Not from me. Understand?”

Michael twitches his lips. “All right.” Sheppard starts to leave, but remembers and turns back. “And, about this mission ...”

Michael lifts his chin.

Sheppard sighs and takes the tiny desk seat, turns it around and sits, his long legs not quite fitting between the desk and the end of the bed. “It’s a great idea, this mission, but here’s the thing.” He takes a deep breath, not looking at Michael, who hasn’t moved from where he’s seated on the bed. “It isn’t the only way we can go with this. It’s early days yet with Rodney’s aerosol grenade thing. We may find some other delivery system. You don’t have to volunteer for this.”

Michael smiles. “Whose idea was it?”

“Was what?”

“The mission. Who thought of it?”

Sheppard gropes for a diversion. “Oh, it was a-- it was a group idea. It doesn’t matter. I just want you to know you don’t have to do this.” He gets to his feet to leave.

“Because the process of reversion would likely be as painful for me as the conversion was.” Michael’s looking steadily at him, now. “Whoever thought of it –“

“I told you, it doesn’t matter.” Sheppard is at the door. “But Caldwell will want an answer from you in the morning.”

“I’ll give him one,” Michael says, as Sheppard escapes through the door.


End file.
